


Untitled

by fitzbiscuits



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 20:58:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1832056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzbiscuits/pseuds/fitzbiscuits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "Blaine is a friend of single father!Kurt and will occasionally babysit for Kurt while he goes on dates looking for someone to be the perfect other parent for his child. One day he comes home from a horrible date and sees Blaine and baby asleep on the couch and has a epiphany about Blaine."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

Kurt doesn’t have second thoughts when he calls Blaine to come over on such short notice because he knows that he never has anything planned on Fridays and the weekends (he would know if he does; he’s usually the first person he calls for fashion advice if he gets a date or gets invited to a party, which he rarely ever goes to these days) and he’s told Kurt several times not to hesitate to call him if he ever needs someone to babysit Sophie. So he doesn’t.

It doesn’t take Blaine more than an hour for him to get to Kurt’s apartment whenever he calls him over because he’s always looking forward to babysitting, and he’s probably more enthusiastic than someone who’s paid to do it. He’d come over, hauling a bag of DVDs and storybooks and coloring pages, and sometimes, he’d sleep over and make fun pancakes and freshly squeezed orange juice the next morning.

And it’s not like he’s not getting anything out of it, despite his polite protests and ‘you can’t keep buying me things, Kurt—you’re not a sugar daddy!’ because Kurt buys him things, anyway, like season tickets for the Yankees and dinner reservations for him and his dates at that fancy restaurant at Fifth that only a person with high-end privileges from work can get last-minute reservations to. Kurt tells him that it’s just his way of saying thank-you, and Blaine really can’t refuse such tempting offers, and—well, these are just the kind of things friends do for each other, right?

So Kurt calls Blaine, says he might have found The One at the gym because ‘he’s tall and handsome and funny and  _oh god—_ his body, Blaine, he’s  _gorgeous_ ’ and Blaine just laughs because he’s heard him say this before— _many_ times—but he’s over in fifteen minutes, anyway, bearing coffee and bagels.

Sophie emerges from the hallway in a pink onesie, hair tied up in a pair of adorable pigtails, just as Kurt’s telling Blaine about how Ricky (‘yes, his name is Ricky, and I think it’s hot’) let him watch him lift weights, describing how his tousled blonde hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and the godly way his biceps flexed that made almost every girl (and guy, if he’s going to be honest) in the room swoon.

“Oh, hey, sweetie,” Kurt says, softly, twisting his body so he’s looking at his daughter over the couch. “Guess who’s here?” He subtly points at Blaine beside him, who waves at Sophie and greets her with an overly excited ‘Hi, princess!’, an octave higher than he’s used to.

“Uncle Blaine!” Sophie beams at him and rushes around to the couch to practically throw herself at him as she climbs up on his lap, planting a huge, wet kiss on his cheek. “Can we have a slumber party, Uncle Blaine?”

“We are gonna have the best slumber party  _ever_ , princess. Just you wait.” Blaine taps Sophie’s nose, who just giggles in excitement at the prospect of another slumber party, like they didn’t have one not more than two weeks ago. “We’re gonna bake chocolate chip cookies and build a pillow fort and watch  _all_ your favorite Disney movies.”

“The Little Lermaid?”Sophie pulls at Blaine’s navy blue bowtie with white anchor prints (she told him once that it’s a pretty bowtie, and he’s taken to wearing it everytime he visits) and looks up at him with wide blue eyes, the same ones that has Blaine at Kurt’s mercy everytime.

Blaine moves his head back a bit and furrows his eyebrows, looking slightly ridiculed. “What, are you kidding me? Of course I brought The Little Lermaid! Can’t have a Disney marathon without our favorite sea princess, now could we?”

“Nope!” Sophie grins, and Kurt can’t help but smile at the exchange. Blaine is freakishly amazing with kids. Kurt’s never seen anyone who can get along with them as easily as Blaine does. If the way he dresses like a senior citizen  _and_ a toddler is any indication, it probably has something to do with his distinct man-child personality that even some adults—especially Kurt—find endearing. It’s the way he can get into a child’s headspace so easily, the way he can configure his view of the world to match with the simplicity, innocence, and ignorance of a three-year old’s. It’s one of the reasons, among many, why it’s Blaine that he trusts with Sophie.

-

It takes him nearly two hours to get ready—twenty minutes in the shower, forty minutes picking out the right outfit (after practically hauling his entire wardrobe out on his bed, he ultimately decides on a dark green button-down and a black dinner jacket paired with thin slacks and breaks in his new Paul Smiths as well), twenty more minutes trying to tame his hair and moisturizing his face and skin, and thirty minutes sitting in the living room, contemplating on whether or not he should go.

He watches from the couch as Blaine and Sophie make cookies in the kitchen. Well, more on Blaine making cookies and making sure that Sophie doesn’t break the eggs or eat all the cookie dough. He thinks about just calling the date off and staying here instead, and he’s nearly made his mind when he catches Blaine’s eye as he helps Sophie press the star-shaped cookie cutter in her hand against the dough.  He gives Blaine a tight smile before he tears his eyes away and smooths his jacket down.

“Alright, just keep doing that ‘til you have dozens of little cookie stars, okay? I’ll be right back,” Blaine tells Sophie, who gives him a cheerful ‘okay’ before making his way over to the living room and plopping down on the couch next to Kurt. He sighs, deeply, exasperatedly, and says, “So, what’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours?” He makes small, circular motions with his finger as he points at the top of Kurt’s perfect coif, the tip of his finger barely grazing against the thick strands when Kurt slaps it away. Blaine just laughs and leans back against the couch. “Talk to me, Hummel.”

Kurt glances at him, smiles feebly, and shakes his head. “It’s… it’s nothing. It’s stupid. Just pre-date jitterbugs, I guess.”

“Jitterbugs? Sounds rough,” Blaine says, lightly, but with a hint of sarcasm that makes Kurt chuckle.  “You don’t wanna go on this date? I heard Ricky’s got a pretty sweet bod.”

Kurt playfully slaps Blaine’s arm. “Shut up,” he says, and Blaine gives him a sheepish grin. He sighs softly and looks down at his lap, feels his palms start to sweat just against the smooth fabric of his slacks. “I don’t know, though. I mean, he seems like a nice guy. Sweet, even. But it’s just… it always ends the same way. We go out for a night, and it’s either they turn out to be total assholes or we start having this two-week thing that only lasts for, well… two weeks. I don’t even know why I do this.” He tips his head back and leans against the couch.

Blaine gives Kurt a sympathetic look but quickly erases it from his face because he knows that Kurt  _hates_ people pitying him, and he’s never really liked receiving sympathy. Not when he lost his brother, not when Steve left, and certainly not now. So he does the next best thing he does when people open up to him, aside from his perfect ‘awwws’ and his warm, consoling hugs: giving people advice he fully believes in but rarely ever takes.

He shifts in his seat so that he’s sitting closer to Kurt, their knees almost touching, and he notices it, but decides not to pay attention. “Look, if you think he’s a good guy, then you should give it a shot. If you think he looks like he’s gonna be an asshole, then you should still give it a shot.” He pauses, smiles. “Though, I personally believe he’s the latter because the name Ricky totally sounds like it belongs to a douchebag with a mullet.” Kurt just gives him a raised eyebrow, unsure of what to make of this just yet. “I mean, look at you. You’ve made it through nearly a year without that turd face Steve and you’re one of the most put-together guys I know.”

“Not that put-together,” Kurt says, quietly.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Kurt lifts his gaze and meets Blaine’s eyes, and it’s only then that they’re both  _really_ aware of the proximity of them sitting next to each other. It makes Blaine’s cheeks flush just the faintest shade of red before he clears his throat and moves away—not too much that he’s going to look repelled, but just enough that he can give Kurt his personal space back.

“You really think so?” Kurt asks, biting his lip that makes the heat from Blaine’s cheeks rush to his ears and neck in a way that’s even obvious to Kurt, but he finds it adorable how easily he gets flustered.

“Yeah, I mean… you’ve got a high-end job and you’ve got all these events you attend and you’re taking care of a kid, on top of that. I mean, that’s pretty amazing.”

Kurt nods and says, “Well, you do all the heavy-lifting, though,” in a way that’s meant to be more of a joke than anything, but he can’t deny that subtle ring of truth to it.

Blaine laughs, that way he does when he hears a joke he didn’t expect to be funny, or when a friend tells him an embarrassing story—raw and pure and unadulterated. Kurt starts laughing, too, and they’re both caught up in a moment of quiet giggling at a joke that’s probably only funny when Kurt tells it to other people, but they’re laughing, anyway.

They feel ridiculous and stupid once their laughter dies down, and Blaine wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. Kurt glances at his watch.

“I better get going.” He looks over at Blaine, who’s sunk back comfortably on the couch.

“Okay,” Blaine says, softly. He sits up and offers a warm smile to Kurt and a friendly pat on the back. Because if there’s anything Blaine’s good at, it’s being friendly.  _Too_  friendly, sometimes. “Good luck, bud. I got it covered here, don’t worry.”

Kurt presses his lips into a thin line and nods. “Thanks.” He gets up and takes a deep breath as he heads for the door. “Soph, baby, I’ll be back soon! You behave, okay? Don’t give Uncle Blaine a hard time.”

“Bye, Daddy!” Sophie waves a spoon at Kurt, who gives her and Blaine one last smile before walking through the door and closing it behind him. Blaine stays seated, purses his lips together as he thinks of—well, nothing, in particular. Kurt, maybe, but his thoughts are pretty indiscernible at the moment.

There’s silence, and then—

“Uncle Blaaaaiiine, look! I made cookie poop!”

-

It’s well-past eleven when Kurt gets home, cheeks flushed from the amount of wine he’d only really drunk because Ricky is nice and sweet and  _gorgeous_ , but at some point in the evening, Kurt’s gotten tired of hearing about how many times he’d beaten his personal record of most chin-ups accomplished under five minutes, or that time he and his friend Dylan streaked naked in college ( _the video is up on YouTube—oh, wait, here, I’ll show you_ ), or that  _other_ time he and said friend streaked naked in bed. Kurt thought that if he’d gotten himself drunk enough, he’d last at least until after they’re both basking in that sweet afterglow of sex, but before he could get his hopes up for that, Ricky starts talking about how he’d only recently gotten out of a bad relationship, then he starts crying, and Kurt orders a third bottle of wine.

When he really thinks about it, the only reason he ever really considered dating Ricky is because he liked the prospect of getting to say ‘Oh, we met at the gym’ when he drags him along to dinners and reunions, and knows that despite the sweet smiles and the ‘awwws’ and ‘tell us more!’ that his friends would secretly want to be him. And he feels very smug about that, having something better than what everyone else had these past couple of months, and the notion of recovery  _and_ getting something to brag about pleases him.

He walks into the living room with a drag in his step and flicks on the lights, not even the slightest bit surprised when he finds the entire room littered with pillows and blankets that have been hauled out from the bedrooms, resembling something like the aftermath of someone’s failed attempt at a fort. There’s a tray of burnt cookies on the coffee table, on top of a clutter of glitters and sequins and glue sticks and crayons and markers and colored paper. The TV is on a nearly muted volume, the soft glow of the screen illuminating the faces of—as Kurt’s only recently come to notice—Blaine and Sophie, who are both sound asleep on the couch. Blaine’s head is tipped back with his mouth gaping slightly open, snoring, and there’s Sophie curled up on his lap, a small lump of a three-year old under a comforter with her pretty blonde locks sticking out.

Kurt smiles softly— _fondly_ —at the pair, and there’s something about seeing Sophie sleeping in Blaine’s arms that isn’t weird when he knows it  _should_ be, because of reasons that he can’t come up with at the top of his head. But it’s nice and endearing and there’s a fluttery feeling in his chest that’s trying to tell him something, that’s pulling at his heartstrings,but Kurt pushes it away.

He walks around the couch, careful not to make too much noise or step on the blankets lying around. He bends down and picks up the tray, but as he turns to walk away, he stubs his foot against one of the table’s legs.  

“ _Shit_ ,” he hisses, wincing in pain. Sophie shifts from where she’s comfortably lying down, pulling the blanket away from her face and rubs her eyes with her fists. Kurt bites his lip as she slowly opens her eyes, small and squinty and still probably trying to gain focus on Kurt’s figure standing in front of her.

“Daddy?” Her voice is small and croaky from sleep. Blaine remains undisturbed.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Kurt says, a soft smile on his lips. He puts the tray down and crouches in front of the couch, cupping Sophie’s face with a hand, gently rubbing his thumb on her pale cheek. “You wanna go to bed?”

Sophie gives her a slow nod, eyes still droopy. Beside her, Blaine moves his head to the side, his nose flaring as he snores. Kurt looks up and tries to fight a laugh.

“Uncle Blaine’s noisy, isn’t he?”

“He snores a lot.”

Kurt chuckles quietly, and Sophie smiles.

“Come on, up you go.” Kurt places his hands under Sophie’s arms and lifts her up, carrying her against his chest. She drags the blanket along as Kurt brings her to her room, softly kicking the door open and switching on the lights. He sets her down on the bed gently, and she immediately curls up into a ball, pulling the blanket over her head. Kurt pulls it down just over her chest and brushes her hair back against her forehead.

“Can Uncle Blaine live with us?”

Kurt pauses— _freezes_ —at the question because it came out of nowhere, and definitely not something he thinks a lot about, but he knows that Sophie is serious because she’s  _three_ , and he can’t remember a time when she didn’t  _not_ mean anything.

“Um.”

In fairness, it’s a clever question, and something he knows he should’ve expected to come from her. Sophie clings to Blaine like he’s her own father, and it should offend Kurt, to a certain degree, but it doesn’t, because Blaine’s too damn good with kids, and it’s to endearing to get offended by.

He clears his throat and tries to compose himself because he might have been dismantled a little with that question. “No, I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

Sophie pulls her eyebrows together and gives him her best kicked puppy look, and it’s really not fair. “Please?”

“ _No._ ” He tries to sound adamant and vigilant and serious, but the corner of his lips curl up and he can’t help but break into a smile. “Uncle Blaine has his own home. Besides, where would he sleep?”

“The guest room!”

“What if we have a guest over?”

Sophie’s expression falters, and Kurt watches her think like there’s actually a solution to that, and then:

“Your room!”

Kurt metaphorically topples over, does a spit take, has his eyeballs popping out of their sockets, etc. etc.

Sophie is grinning at him now, because it’s  _obviously_ the best idea ever, and Kurt’s still trying to understand how these things just occur to his daughter. How they would occur to  _anyone_ , but then he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t even vaguely  _thought_ about it…

He clears his throat and doesn’t say anything—and it’s not one of those parental things where they don’t respond to their kids so as not to encourage their ideas, because he literally can’t come up with anything else to say—and just smiles at Sophie, warm and gentle and soft. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” he says, leaning over towards her and pressing a soft kiss on her forehead. He knows she’s pouting, by the way she mutters ‘goodnight’ back, but he knows she’ll get over it by tomorrow.

He turns off the lights and closes her door, and when he walks back to the living room, Blaine is up and he’s picking up the pillows and the blankets on the floor, tossing them on the couch. Kurt hooks his thumbs into the front pockets of his slacks, and carefully walks towards Blaine, who barely even notices his presence. His eyes are still fuzzy with sleep; Kurt knows this by the way he blankly stoops down and picks up that pillow like a crane, and he doesn’t blame him.

“Hey,” Kurt says, softly, so he doesn’t startle Blaine, who lifts his head and takes a good moment or two before he recognizes that  _yes_ , it’s Kurt, and that it’s probably polite to smile and greet him.

“Hey back.” Blaine presses his lips into a thin smile, tossing another pillow over to the couch. “How’d the date go?”

Kurt sits down on a chair, lifting his feet up on the coffee table, which he normally would be very pissy about, if it were anyone else, but it’s him, and he’s tired, and he doesn’t really care about much else right now. “It was nice.”

“Was it really?” Blaine raises and eyebrow at him and smirks.

 “We had a good time.”

“Did you really?”

Kurt gives Blaine a pointed look, and Blaine just grins at him sheepishly. “For your information, Ricky is sweet, and he’s a real gentleman. He’s just… you know.” He shifts in his seat a little uncomfortably, because he knows that if he admits this, Blaine’s gonna start getting all smug, and underneath that sweet exterior, he can be one cocky son of a bitch. “He’s in a really tough place right now, and… I think it would be better if we just stay friends.”

“A- _ha!_ ”

“Shut up.”

“I told you, didn’t I?”

“No, you didn’t. Actually, you encouraged me to go. I was about to  _not_ go.”

“I said Ricky sounded like a douche.”

“That’s hardly anything. And he wasn’t a douche, he’s just going through a bad breakup.”

Blaine sighs in defeat and drops down on the couch next to the pile of blankets and pillows. “Fair point.”

Kurt smiles, and he’s too tired to, but he does, anyway.

“Well, I should head home,” Blaine says, and Kurt breaks out of his thoughts, nodding absentmindedly, until he realizes what it is he’s nodding for.

“No,” he tells him, a little more adamant than he’d like. “Don’t be stupid. It’s almost 12 in the morning. You’re not going anywhere.” He reaches for a pillow and a blanket from the couch, and pushes them into Blaine’s lap. It’s not the first time he’s asked Blaine to sleep over, and he thinks that Blaine should get used to it by now, should voluntarily bring a change of clothes and maybe have some of his things at the guest room, but he’s probably just being polite.

“Okay.” Blaine smiles and doesn’t make much out of it because it’s not something he hasn’t heard before. “Thanks, Kurt.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Blaine gets up, carrying the pillow under his arm and bunching up the blanket against his chest, and Kurt leans back comfortably against his seat.

“This is goodnight, yeah?” Blaine says.

“You’re going to bed, not hopping on a train to Texas.” Kurt chuckles, and Blaine can’t help but smile back, ducking his head.

“Fine. Goodnight, then.”

“Night, Blaine.”

Blaine turns on his heel and starts heading for the hallway, and Kurt wishes his dates were more like this, when he’s with Blaine: simple and easy. He doesn’t have to rack his brain much for the right things to say, or find himself in uncomfortable or awkward situations because it’s all just effortless. And it’s not because they’re friends, because meeting Blaine for the first time—at one of his friends’ Christmas parties, of all places—is like meeting someone he was already familiar with.

“Blaine.”

And of course he’s considered Blaine as more than a friend, even if it was just a passing thought when he’d watched Blaine tell Sophie a story, doing all the sounds and the voices, and Sophie just giggles because he’s  _amazing_. Sometimes Kurt thinks about why it’s Blaine that he calls whenever he needs someone to babysit, and he knows that it’s more than the fact that Blaine’s almost always free or that he’s good with kids or that he actually  _volunteers_.

Blaine turns around, a thoughtful look on his face. “Yo.”

“Don’t say ‘yo’. You sound ridiculous.”

“Am I never allowed to say anything?”

Kurt swallows, can feel the heat spreading from his cheeks to his neck to his chest, and it’s been a while since he’s felt this flustered—not when Ricky asked him out or Ben or Taylor or Michael. Not even on the rare occasions that Steve has tried to romance him, before rushing off to work. He hasn’t given this much thought, obviously, but the more he thinks about it, the more he feels compelled not to do it. And he really wants to do it.

“Are you, uh… are you doing anything tomorrow?” he asks, finally, and it feels like the words are still stuck in his throat.

Blaine blinks, tries to make something out of this, but can’t seem to put it together just yet. “No, not really. I mean, I was going to watch a movie, but… no important plans or anything.” He pauses, then: “Why?”

Kurt shakes his head, considers forgetting it because it’s probably a bad idea, anyway, but it’s as good a time as any to ask. “I was just wondering if you maybe… wanted to grab dinner or something?”

“What, like takeout?”

Kurt bites his lip. “No. Not like takeout.”

It takes a moment for Blaine to process the whole thing until it finally clicks. “Oh, you mean—”

“Yeah.”

Blaine thinks on it, and Kurt doesn’t know if he’s thought about it before, too, or if he thinks it’s a bad idea or that he’s being ridiculous, and he really needs to stop thinking before he takes it back so they can both pretend he never asked until it gets too awkward for them to keep ignoring it.

“Sure.” Blaine nods, smiling. He’s not eager, like he usually is, but he certainly isn’t opposing the idea. “Yeah. Dinner sounds fun.”

“Okay.” Kurt’s a little surprised, but he’s glad, if anything. “Good. Dinner. Tomorrow.”

“Yup.”

“Alright.”

“Goodnight again?”

“Goodnight.”

Blaine disappears into the hallway and Kurt sinks back against his seat, cheeks still flushed. It’s risky, attempting to change the paradigm of his relationship with Blaine, but things have been good between them so far; it wouldn’t hurt to go a little further.

But he stops thinking about it, stops worrying like he always does, and smiles to himself, because tomorrow, when Blaine wakes up and makes pancakes and his trademark fresh orange juice, it might mean something more. 


End file.
